


my love is like a powder keg

by annundriel



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-30 21:45:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3952903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annundriel/pseuds/annundriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's no place Dorian would rather be than between the Bull's thighs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	my love is like a powder keg

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amurderof](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amurderof/gifts).



> For amurderof, who prompted me once a long time ago. I hope you like it!
> 
> Title from The Mountain Goats' "International Small Arms Traffic Blues."

Dorian is no blushing naïf. He has had many and varied sexual encounters, and he has been told that his skill with his tongue is unmatched.

If only the Bull weren't quite so...well-endowed.

Dorian sits back on his heels and takes in the picture before him; the Bull reclined in Dorian's bed, arms crossed behind his head, legs splayed, and cock curved over his belly—which is softer than it looks, Dorian knows, all of the Bull is softer than he looks. Except his cock. And probably his horns, though Dorian has felt them after the Bull has used his specially ordered horn balm and even those—

"You all right there, Dorian?" the Bull asks, one leg brushing Dorian's thigh. "Too much for you to handle?"

Dorian scoffs. "Hardly.” He reaches between his own legs to give his own cock a stroke. It's gratifying the way the Bull's eye dips to follow the movement, the way his bottom lip goes a little slack. Dorian smirks.

The Bull reaches for his own cock, and Dorian releases his to smack the Bull's hand away. It gets him a huff from Bull, and he grins.

"Then what's taking so long, kadan? Or are you admiring the view?" He flexes, and Dorian has to admit—though not out loud—that yes, yes, he does admire the view. And he is. It's just.

He prides himself in his blowjobs, and he's never had any complaints. But he's never been with a Qunari before, and the girth alone is...daunting. Not unmanageable, and certainly not the monster they'd all heard tales off, but...

He is determined.

"Considering my approach, more like," he says, tilting his head.

"You know, you could just come here and let me finger that pretty ass of yours." The Bull leers. "We already know that approach."

Dorian flushes, his cock twitching. It's true, they do. But he wants this, wants to feel the Bull on his tongue, to feel the size of him stretch his lips as the head of his cock nudges his throat. He wants to taste the Bull, to look up and see the Bull's face as he watches Dorian suck his cock. To know he put that look—the glassy-eyed look Bull sometimes gets when they fuck that Dorian hopes means...well, something—on the Bull's face.

Ignoring the Bull's words, Dorian shifts on the bed, moving until he's lying flat between the Bull's legs. It's a place to start, anyway, and that's what Dorian needs. He shifts, cock pressed between his body and the mattress, and groans a little, which makes the Bull's cock twitch, the fingers of one hand flexing against his stomach. Dorian smiles and winks at him, then wraps his hand around his cock, near the base, pulse jumping at the feel of the Bull hard against his palm.

He licks a stripe up the underside, one long, wet move that has the Bull's hips lifting, his fingers flexing.

"Dorian," he breathes, and Dorian feels on top of the world already.

Leaning in, he does it again, this time working his mouth over the head, pulling the foreskin back to lave it with his tongue. The Bull tastes thick and salty here. He makes Dorian's mouth water and his dick throb. Makes him want to sink down onto that cock; mouth, ass, Dorian doesn't care. He just _wants_.

So he takes. With a moan, he lifts up, pushes forward. Works his mouth down around the Bull's cock as the Bull's hand finds his head, fingers slipping through Dorian's hair. The Bull could push him—and one day Dorian will ask him to, will ask him to hold him and fuck his face, will insist (though he imagines the Bull will suggest it first) that he gets to fuck the Bull's—but he doesn't. His hand stays where it is, steady, fingers massaging, and Dorian looks up at him through his lashes, high on the look gracing the Bull's features.

He's wide open, laid bare. His eye is dark and wide and glinting, hot as a coal. His lips, parted and slick, mouth words Dorian can't quite make out, the rush in his ears is too loud.

And then, suddenly, he can.

"Kadan," he hears, over and over. "Kadan," and something else in Qunlat, then the Common Tongue mixed in. His name, _Dorian_ , over and over, _kadan, yes. Fuck, you're so—yes, Dorian,_ Dorian, _like that, just like—_

His throat works around the head of the Bull's cock, and the Bull groans, fingers tightening against his skull. He could hurt Dorian, if he wanted, but Dorian knows now, he understands. The Bull would never hurt him. Not here, not out there. This thing they've been building between them has the foundation to be strong, to be something wholly new and wholly them.

This isn’t something he’s ever experienced before. Not the cock down his throat—that’s something Dorian knows, and knows well. No, it’s the rest. It’s the way the Bull watches him, the words he says. The things he means. It’s in the way the pads of his fingers caress Dorian’s skin, and those fingers move against him now, slipping down his cheek to trace the curve of his upper lip where it’s stretched around the Bull, stretched and taut and, _Maker_ , but Dorian loves this. His eyes water and his jaw aches and he’ll have no voice come morning, but none of that matters when the Bull’s muscles are twitching beneath him.

He pulls back, the Bull’s cock slipping from his mouth with an obscene _pop_ , to lick at the Bull’s fingers, his tongue curling around the tip of one, another. The Bull’s head falls back with a thud, and Dorian knows that later he will find horn-marks scoured in the headboard. He can’t bring himself to care. He’ll ask Josephine to order a new one, pay for it himself.

Or maybe he won’t. Maybe he’ll leave it just as it is, wood marked and scarred and used, a testament to them, to _this_.

He strokes the Bull’s cock, hand a tight ring around the slick, hot flesh, and leans down to mouth at the juncture of thigh and hip. To nose at the heavy weight of his balls where they lie between his thighs. He mouths at one, and the Bull shudders. Tilts his head slightly to mouth at the other.

“Dorian.”

Grinning, he pulls away to raise an eyebrow at the Bull. “Yes?” he asks. “Something on your mind?”

The Bull groans, his fingers flexing against Dorian’s hair. “Of course you’d get cheeky with your hand on my cock.”

“Me, cheeky?” A mock gasp. “You wound me, Bull.” He takes a pull on the Bull’s cock, grip twisting just below the head.

“Fuck!”

“Perhaps I’ll just leave you to your own—”

“Dorian, I swear if you don’t get your mouth back on my cock I will—”

Dorian licks a stripe up the underside again, the tip of his tongue lingering just below the head. “Yes?” he asks. “You’ll what?”

The Bull mumbles something, a quick succession of sharp words Dorian doesn’t quite catch, and then his hand is engulfed by the Bull’s. “Dorian,” he says, “please—”

And that’s…that’s new. That’s different. Plenty of people have begged Dorian before, but none with quite that look, quite that tone. None have made Dorian want to give them whatever they ask.

He swallows hard and nods. Ducks his head to press his mouth against the Bull’s scarred knuckles before slipping upward to wrap his lips around the head once more.

The Bull sighs, a great gust of air, and his hand moves to the base of his cock to hold himself steady, but he does not let go, does not release Dorian’s hand. It’s not as though Dorian needs it for anything better.

He focuses instead on the Bull’s cock, the feel of it in his mouth. The way it stretches his lips and depresses his tongue. He wants nothing more than to make the Bull come, to taste nothing but him. To smell nothing but him. To have nothing but the Bull surrounding him here in his room, the two of them alone.

The head isn’t enough; Dorian wants more. He wants it all.

Breathing deep through his nose, he relaxes his jaw, lets his throat open. He sucks and swallows around the head and then…He does his best to swallow the Bull down. Works his throat until he feels the warm, calloused curve of the Bull’s fingers against his lips, until he can hear the harsh, ragged breathing from the Bull above. It isn’t all, but it’s enough; for now, it’s enough, and Dorian is happy here, he is ecstatic, with the Bull’s cock in his throat and the Bull’s fingers in his hair, his shoulders bracketed by the Bull’s thick thighs.

He moans, content, and that’s all it takes because the Bull’s hips twitch and he’s babbling something. Dorian hears his name again, and _kadan_ and other words that Dorian doesn’t catch but that he understands anyway.

One thing he knows for sure; he will never get enough of this.


End file.
